Pride and prejudice.

One change fatherhood has caused in me is that I pay attention to other babies now. Not in a sinister way: I just mean that I acknowledge their existence, really. Previously I was a bit scared of any children I'm not related to, which I think is fairly normal for a young gentleman, prior to his initiation into parenthood. I've always been a bit shy, but the age group with whom I would go to the greatest lengths to avoid eye contact was the youngest one.

Now this has changed. Working in retail, I regularly encounter younglings, so it has been easily noticeable to me that I suddenly consider myself part of an exclusive club, whose admittedly large number of members know and understand the secrets of communicating with and understanding babies. I now shamelessly grin, wave and coo at every possible opportunity.

This behaviour seems to be deemed acceptable by the parents, so I assume it is normal. I think the reason people such as myself conduct ourselves in this way is because we want to show off. "I too am proven to be capable of reproduction," we are saying with these demonstrations of our ability to interact with the fruits of others' loins, "I can do this because I have also made one." Which is fair enough really. Of all the things to be vain about, the perpetuation of one's genes is one of the more acceptable.

But there's also a competitive element. I think it's human nature to compare what's yours with what's not. This may be a recent - and not necessarily admirable - development in our evolution, caused, perhaps, by our shallow consumer culture. Or it may be a more fundamental instinct. This is for anthropologists to speculate upon. But it seems to be a ubiquitous trait, the consequence of which is that, while I am grinning, waving and cooing at all these babies, I am making instant judgements on their size, beauty, alertness, intelligence and general potential to be a successful member of the species. And as I jump to these wild extrapolations, I am comparing them to those I have made about my own daughter.

And she always wins.

I try to be as objective as I can, but in all honesty I judge my daughter to be the most beautiful, amusing and adorable creature ever produced by biology. This is a worrying portent of a tendency in me towards competitive parenting. But there is little I can do. I'll try to rein it in by the time she starts school, because I don't wish to be that annoying parent that the others don't talk to (although I think your child has to be called Tarquin for you to truly achieve that status). Sadly though, I fear it's beyond my control: My child is quite clearly better than anyone else's.